


Ice Cream Social

by rude_not_ginger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 07:57:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2500412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rude_not_ginger/pseuds/rude_not_ginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler do not "date" like ordinary people do.  This is one of their dates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Cream Social

They don't date. Not in the way that ordinary people do.

The very notion of a standard date, of dinner and cinema or whatever it is, the very _notion_ , repulses them both. You couldn't pay Sherlock to sit still in a restaurant, and you couldn't bribe the Woman to be bored to tears by some movie. This is nothing they would find enjoyable. This is nothing that would be worthy of their time.

And now, with the way their lives have altered, with the way things have become since his resurrection from the dead and her new life of crime across the globe, well…there's so little time.

So, with what time they have, they spend it _correctly_.

First, always first, they indulge him.

It is a game from the one who initiates the meeting, the holiday, the _date_ , whatever it's called. A location, though not necessarily the correct location, is implied. The one who receives the message interprets, deduces, and follows the message. Arrives at the location, hopefully the correct one, and seeks out the message-sender. The message sender will be there, but will always be disguised. Hidden in plain sight.

A treat in deduction, if he's the one doing the finding. A treat in foiling the Woman, if he's the one hiding. If the sender stays hidden for a predetermined amount of time (usually determined in the first message), then the date is over. The hidden message sender leaves both victorious and mildly disappointed. The deducer leaves disappointed on all counts, but ready for the next message.

They have both left utterly disappointed at least once. But that's not the point.

The second indulgence, when the message-sender has been found, is entirely hers. Money that isn't theirs is spent on lavish dinners, hotels, and extravagancies for no reason other than that it is their date, their holiday, their time away. For a predetermined amount of time (usually decided upon arrival at the location and usually extended far beyond the original decision), they indulge.

Except this time.

This time, he sent the message. It contained a photograph of a club foot. Presently, the news was buzzing about the newly-scanned King Tut's body and its injured Pharoah, and so the location was narrowed. The year of the photograph was determined to be 1987, and so the location was narrowed. The time of day of the photograph was around 7 in the evening, and so the location was narrowed. The time that the photograph was sent was 12:34, and so the location was concluded, and Irene Adler booked a flight for Las Vegas. When she arrived, she immediately took a taxi to the Natural History museum.

It wasn't thirty seconds after she stepped inside that she saw him, stepping onto an elevator. That suit, that coat. He hadn't even bothered with a costume this time. A disappointment, really, considering the elaborate means he'd gone through in the past. The large-hipped dancer in the miniskirt was her favorite so far, but his cheekbones were noticeable, even with the lace-front wig draping down his face. This time, he didn't----

"Excuse me." Another tall man, also in the long, dark coat, brushed past her. He, too, had Sherlock's hair. Another passed towards the Egyptian exhibit, but this one was a woman, wearing a dark wig. On her arm was another woman, this one dressed up as John Watson.

Irene paused, and stepped towards the Egyptian exhibit. At least, if nothing else, she knew she had the right place. This was far too odd to be anything but where Sherlock Holmes would send her. Another two men, also dressed in Sherlock's outfit, pushed past her into the exhibit. They all had American accents, and spoke in excited, hushed tones.

As she stepped into the exhibit, she could see it was rented out for whatever was going on. Displays were up, showing images of London, of Sherlock's flat, and of John Watson's blog. The ice cream stand was even making 'Sherlock cones' with little waffle-cone deerstalker caps.

The crowd was around thirty or so men and women, all dressed up as variations of Sherlock Holmes, most with a deerstalker cap, and a few as John Watson. They stood around, just talking. They didn't pay her any notice at all.

Irene reached out, touching one of the women with her arm.

"What's going on in here?"

"Oh," the woman said, grinning madly with a broken-toothed smile. "It's a Sherlock Holmes convention! You know, the blogger detective from the internet?"

Irene raised an eyebrow, and then let out a long laugh. Several of the Sherlock-look-alikes turned to look at her. "A _convention_. For him? The clever detective in the funny hat?"

The women looked bemused, and then just a touch insulted by Irene's tone. "He's the most brilliant man on the planet."

Irene's laugh only grew. Oh, if they only knew.

She looked around at all of the Sherlock fans, all of them. Gossiping away about their idol, about how brilliant he was. What an excellent place for Sherlock to hide. Hiding around people so excited for him, they didn't even notice he was there. She idly wondered if this was a bit of an ego boost for him, but decided that with all of those hats around, it probably wasn't.

She watched as one of the convention goers broke the waffle-hat off of his ice cream, tossing it into the rubbish bin before he began to eat it. Such a silly thing to do. It was chocolate-covered, and getting rid of it would mean losing part of the ice cream, as well. Unless one really hated that hat---

With a deadly smirk, Irene stepped over to the man, reaching up to take off his deerstalker cap. A familiar mop of curls and a very familiar man. A very familiar man who clearly wasn't expecting to be caught quite so early in the game.

"Demasking me _here_?" he demanded, glancing aside. 

The words _Is that really him?_ began to murmur through the crowds. The excitement was palpable. If Irene Adler had to make a guess, she would say that he was probably around 90 seconds from being devoured alive by some rabid American fans.

"You picked the most dangerous costume, Mr. Holmes. Not me." Delicately, carefully, she lifted one foot at a time to remove her heels.

"Sherlock Holmes?" a voice called out.

"When I say 'run'…" Sherlock began, carefully.

Her predatory smile widened. This was her other favorite indulgence. The chase, the thrill.

" _Run!_ "

After all, they don't date. Not in the way that ordinary people do.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely jdrox, who requested Sherlock and Irene on their version of a "romantic date". I hope this works!
> 
> Based on roleplay with the amazing lyrangalia for [Death Takes A Holiday](http://archiveofourown.org/works/694742/chapters/1277705) (like I ain't even pretending this ain't based on that world.)
> 
> Also, this managed to fulfill the "Ice Cream" prompt for Sherlock Rare Pair Bingo.


End file.
